A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Thursday, November 08, 2018

TMI poem #1 scabs

OHHHH, NOYEAH. Scabs,
man. They tighten up
and pull at the skin, sometimes

there's itching under there
as everything knits itself together...! Also
that PRIMAL URGE both to "hasten"

the healing process,

jumping the gun as if it's already done (but
it probably isn't and we probably know) (yet
SO SATISFYING when we think we're jumping the

gun but no!

All new pink skin!
Nailed it!) and the
perverser urge to interrupt it, to spy

on its secret workings while they're still glistening
- setting back the process!

The scab

is the hat of our body's secret doctor,
and it fascinates us
to see him or her working on the surface.

We want to peek under there!
And all the right/wrong
warring sensations slowly
pulling at each other
under that scab... they're

just calling
and calling at us
to pick them off, to intensify.

1 comment:

Mel said...

This speaks to me so too much.